


#meta

by domesticadventures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Conventions, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck agrees to go to another <i>Supernatural</i> convention.</p>
<p>What was he <i>thinking?</i></p>
<p>(Of Sam, of course.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	#meta

**Author's Note:**

  * For [propinquitous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitous/gifts).
  * Inspired by [When the Going Gets Weird, the Weird Turn Pro](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4369628) by [MajorEnglishEsquire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/pseuds/MajorEnglishEsquire). 



> did you know i love [cecilia](http://femmechester.tumblr.com) almost as much as she loves sam winchester?
> 
> well now you do. this is for her, on this, the anniversary of her birth.

Chuck can’t believe it, but he agrees to do another convention.

And not just any other convention. But another one specifically for _Supernatural_.

It’s weird, still, the idea that he has enough fans to justify a convention that’s just about his books and not some general mishmash of horror and sci-fi and fantasy and whatever else. It freaks him out a little, actually. Or maybe more than a little. He knows how high energy the fans at these things can be. These conventions are few and far between, and people come from all over the country for them. Spend money on plane tickets and hotel rooms, on handmade costumes and fan-made merchandise and. It’s just. A lot.

But he agrees. Not because the convention itself important but because the money is. Or, rather, what he’s going to spend the money on is important. Sounds better if he puts it like that.

He has this sort of vague plan in the back of his mind where maybe he kind of. Proposes? To Sam. And this sort of desperate hope that maybe Sam will say _Yes_. He wants to do it right, though, and for that, he needs a ring.

He’s been looking into custom rings. Doing that thing people do when they want something they can’t have, yet -- torturing himself by looking at them online. The internet has everything, of course. Rings made of all sorts of materials in all manner of designs. If you’re willing to fork over the cash, you can even get one that has sigils carved into it by someone who actually knows what they’re doing. But to get something like that, something that will maybe do a little more than just look good on Sam’s finger, and get one that will still _fit_ on Sam’s finger? It’s gonna have to be a custom job, and that means it’ll come with a price tag to match. And he just. Wants to buy it for Sam with his own money. That he earned. Legitimately. It’s important to him because he knows it’ll be important to Sam. Knows how much it’ll mean to him.

So he agrees to attend the convention.

He made the mistake of going into the last one blind. Didn’t really know what to expect and didn’t ask. This time, he does. He gets a copy of the schedule and a promise that even though this whole thing is just for _Supernatural,_ it won’t be so...focused. On him.

As he reads through the planned panels, it really does seem like it’ll be okay, like it’ll be more about the books themselves. Most of the panels have nothing to do with him -- they’re on the show’s myth arcs or the lore or the queer reading of the text. Not subtext, he notes. Just. Text. He smiles to himself at that, thinks of himself and Sam. Of Dean and Cas. Wishes he had got far enough along, before he stopped writing them, to have been able to introduce his readers to Charlie. He knows they would have loved her.

But anyway. Actually, _none_ of the the panels have anything to do with him except the one they want him to attend. It’s titled “Death of the Author.” Comes right at the end of the whole thing, so he’s not obligated to really do much besides this one panel and then a book signing.

So. He says _Yes._

As soon as he gets there, he realizes it really isn’t anything like the last one. The demographic is completely different, for one. More like when he attended that play. More representative, he imagines. He gets to spend some time as a spectator, strolling through the halls with Sam at his side, both of them probably looking completely out of place and neither of them really caring because at least they’re doing this together.

They browse the vendor room and chat with a few people in the hallways, and then Chuck makes Sam sit with him through the panel titled “Sam Winchester Saved the World.” It’s basically an hour of people talking about how great Sam is, which is something Chuck can totally get behind. Every time someone says something nice about Sam, something about how brave he is, or how compassionate, or how inherently _good,_ Chuck leans over and whispers things like _Correct_ or _Strongly agree_ or _Wow. These folks really know what they’re talking about. Incredible._

Sam keeps giving him these increasingly soppy looks in return. He kind of loves it, in spite of the crowds.

So it’s real different from the last convention he did. He’s okay for a while, because of all the differences, but then. He isn’t sure quite what it is -- maybe just something about the whole thing, that same hotel vibe, the color of the walls, the pattern of the carpet, that reminds him of the last one.

It’s kind of weird and uncomfortable, thinking back to then. Thinking about who he was and who Sam was. About how maybe he was already kind of in love with Sam back then, and Sam. Well.

Sam hadn’t loved him, and that’s what he goes into his panel remembering: that there was a time when Sam hadn’t loved him back.

It hurts to think about. Makes him want to refuse to let Sam leave his side. The problem is, he’s popular enough to have his presence wanted at this convention but not really famous enough to justify having a body guard. So Sam can’t hover over him like they both clearly want him to.

But Sam can’t exactly blend in. Kind of stands a full foot over the head of nearly everyone else there, which ends up being really nice. Chuck sits on the stage waiting for the panel to start and can pick Sam out of the crowd no problem. Sam is talking to the person he’s sitting next to, face obscured by his hair, and Chuck looks at him and thinks, _I want to forget there was a time before you loved me._

He swears that as soon as he thinks it, Sam turns his head and catches his eye. Sam is...he doesn’t even know. Maybe so attuned to him that he can sense when Chuck needs him to look his way. It makes him smile, just thinking about it.

Sam smiles back, his big, goofy grin that Chuck loves.

Chuck knows there was a point where Sam hadn’t smiled at anyone in a long, long time. He hadn’t remembered how to use that smile, that huge, open, honest one, the last time they were at a convention together.

But he does now. He uses it all the time. Uses it on Chuck, for Chuck, _because of_ Chuck.

Chuck thinks, _I’m so glad you love me now_ , and then the panel starts.

He keeps doing that, looking for Sam when he’s feeling jittery and nervous at the questions he’s being asked. At the thought these fans have put into them, at the gravity with which they speak. A fan asks him something complicated about his books in the context of a heteronormative society and his intent with regards to Sam and Dean’s sexuality, and he looks for Sam and their eyes meet and Chuck says, voice steady, “Not that you need my approval, but a queer reading of the text is completely valid.”

So, all in all, the panel goes a lot better than he was expecting. But it’s draining, still, and by the time he sits down for the book signing, he’s still kind of regretting agreeing to do this. He looks at the line of fans that he’s pretty sure is composed of every attendee present and wishes he could leave already and spend time with Sam. He’s been hearing people talk about his storybook version of Sam all day. He’s ready to hoard the real thing all to himself.

It’s a weird thing, that the version of Sam he created has become this public property. He signs one book after another and looks at the awful depictions of Sam and Dean on cover after cover and thinks about how grateful he is that they missed the mark so wildly. He thinks, _Thank god I’m not popular enough for my books to be made into a movie. Or a shitty network genre TV show. Whatever._ He’s imagining what this convention might have been like if some poor saps had to have their faces permanently associated with the characters in his books. What if _they_ had to show up and do panels? Oh god, what if instead of just panels and book signings they had _photo ops?_

Chuck keeps signing and tries pretty aggressively not to think about it, and he’s just slipped into a perfect state of detached apathy when he finishes signing a book and the fan who had set it in front of him picks it up and just. Doesn’t move.

“Um, excuse me,” she says, quiet and halting.

The people who organized this whole thing had told him there would be no time for conversations or personalizations. That he should focus on keeping the line moving. But something in her voice catches his attention. Something nervous, guilty. He recognizes that tone. It’s the voice of someone who feels like they need to apologize for just. Taking up space.

So he looks up, and once he does, it’s like the floodgates open.

The young woman standing in front of him says, all in a breathless rush, “I know this is probably stupid because he isn’t even real but Sam got me through a really rough time and is basically the reason I’m still here today and he just means so much to me so thank you for writing him.”

Chuck is legitimately awestruck, once he manages to catches up with the speed of her confession. Once he processes what she said. He looks at her, this woman practically in tears, and thinks, _God, I can relate._

He thinks back to the last convention, again. He remembers things were pretty shitty for him at that point. And even then, Sam was already getting him out of bed every morning. Was getting him out of bed long before that, if he’s being honest, even if Chuck didn’t know he was real, yet. Even if for no other reason than Chuck felt he had a story worth telling.

At the last convention, Sam had told him, “We have guns and we’ll find you.”

And it hadn’t made Chuck love him any less.

Sam was already so important to him that it didn’t even change anything. Sam kept on being that person for him. His reason to get up. To keep going. Keep trying.

And now Sam is. Well. Still that person. And much, much more.

Chuck suddenly kind of wishes he were more popular. So there would be an actor who people would associate with Sam instead of just the drawings on the tacky book covers. He gets it, suddenly, how much it might mean to the person standing in front of him, and to who knows how many people besides, to have that kind of opportunity. To see this character that means so much to them come to life. Maybe the photo ops wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all. Maybe he was kind of being a jerk about it, even if just in his own head, and--

“Oh god,” the woman is saying, “it really is stupid I’m sorry--”

So, he’s been spacing out instead of actually responding like a human being. He stops her before she can get any further into her self deprecation. “Nononono,” he says, hands up, placating. “It’s not stupid. Please. It’s not stupid.”

He knows what it’s like to feel obligated to apologize for your feelings.

He knows Sam wouldn’t want that. Not from him. Not from her.

She just. She looks so worried and skeptical and she’s almost in tears over how much she cares about Sam without knowing he’s real.

“Listen,” Chuck says, “I’ve. I’ve been there, okay? And just. The way I figure it, it doesn’t matter who’s holding your hands. It just matters that they’re pulling you back from the ledge.” He takes a breath. He adds, “And I’m. Really glad Sam was...that. For you.”

The woman looks at him like she’s considering him. Like she’s trying to decide if he’s bullshitting her, he supposes. He thinks, _God, I’m awful at this._ He’s gotten used to interacting with Sam, with being able to cheat off years of prophetic bullshit, and--

But then she turns and he realizes it’s not that. It’s just that she was trying to figure out what he was looking at.

Sam. His gaze had unconsciously gone to Sam while he was talking to her.

“Who’s that?” she asks.

Chuck tells her the truth. He says, “My Sam.”

Chuck knows she doesn’t _get it_ get it. But she gets it. She nods, still with tears in her eyes. She thanks him sincerely and takes her book, and then the moment is over.

Chuck is very tired, all of a sudden. Feels himself slipping away from this whole ordeal, back into himself. Knows that before, this would be about the time he’d reach for a drink. God, he could really use a drink. Really _wants_ a drink.

He’s still staring at Sam, and Sam is mouthing, _You okay?_

He really wants a drink. But he wants Sam way more.

He has Sam.

That’s way better.


End file.
